


Poor Boy

by conniptionns



Series: You Know How It Is [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: but not graphic, mention of self harm and child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 16:56:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13885116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conniptionns/pseuds/conniptionns
Summary: 200 word Prompt: it's tattoo parlor AU time! How about Andrews first tattoo?ended up being a teeny bit longer





	Poor Boy

Andrew’s arms were a mess of scars that threaded their way through cigarette burns that were almost faded to nothing with age, the scars that were self-inflicted were another thing. Some still pink and puffy, like the time his foster family’s cat scratched his legs; he knew that meant he should probably take an antihistamine. He pulled down his sweatshirt sleeves instead and walked into the storefront with blacked out windows that proclaimed ‘Tattoo’ in spray paint.

“You’re not 18, so unless your mommy is coming in behind you this is going to be a very short conversation.” A woman with thinning hair pulled back into a greasy bun was sitting cross legged on the counter twirling a pen between her fingers.

Andrew steeled himself. He had been prepared for this. For exactly this. He pushed up his sleeves without a sound, and the woman dropped the pen to the counter beside her and jumped off the counter.

She walked forward and Andrew had to hold his breath to keep from flinching as she held out her hand to his wrist, not grasping it, but clearly wanting to.

Before she could speak, Andrew interrupted her. “I don’t want your fucking pity. I want a tattoo. I am a paying customer. If the age thing is a problem, I can go get a fake ID and come back. Your establishment didn’t exactly scream ‘law-abiding’ to me.” He yanked his sleeves down.

He remembered what his social worker had said. He counted slowly to ten and then realized he had tensed his entire body. He had a propensity of getting torqued off.

“What were you thinking?” the woman asked with false cheer. Andrew didn’t care what she thought of him. He was tired of his social worker and the teachers in school looking at him like he was some broken thing.

Broken implied that he didn’t work. Andrew was probably just bent. That made him snort. If bent meant ‘gay as fuck’ then yeah, he was bent to hell and back.

“I have a couple concept drawings,” he said, taking a step towards her.

“Come on back baby, let Edna get you fixed up.”

“I’m not broken.”

“No, honey, you sure aren’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> @exychamp


End file.
